“Two.” Malvina stopped knitting and placed the yarn and her needles away in her blue knitting bag. “Two is that my granddaughter is beautiful, intelligent and whatever she decides to focus her energies on she will undoubtedly succeed.”
Caroline felt the tears in her eyes. “Gran.”
“I may not always understand you. But I don’t have to. You make me very proud,” Malvina said. “Decide where to focus your energies and do it. Good night my dear,” she said as she kissed her granddaughter goodnight on the forehead and retired to bed.
✽✽✽
Valentine Pierce sat with a glass of scotch in his hand and his mind deep in another place. He had reviewed the three files of the women with Felix, as he knew it was necessary to keep the details of the case fresh in his mind, but he didn’t like thinking of Aida. It had been a painful, traumatic end to their engagement and when she had died her family had blamed him. It was unjustified and her mother had lashed out which distressed him all the more.
He had dreamt of her after her death and the dreams had always been disturbing and unsettling. Before her death, his dreams had been commonplace and uneventful, but when he spent time with the memories of her, his dreams turned dark and twisted. When he dreamed of Aida now, she disappeared often in the dream, and though he searched and searched he was never able to find her. When he awoke, the heaviness of her death fell across him like a weighty garment, and he felt like a failure all over again. He was plagued by thoughts of her and it was the reason he pushed himself and Felix. He didn’t want anyone else to feel the pain he felt and must find and stop the killer before he killed again.
He felt himself sink further into the red leather chair as he gazed into the fire that burned brightly before him. He was comfortable and at ease which is why he enjoyed coming to his club periodically. The Royal Lochnagar whisky scotch warmed his insides and he sighed a small sigh of pleasure.
“Val!” He heard his name being called and turned to see his brother strolling toward him.
Though they were both sons of the Earl of Banham, it was Rowland who would inherit the title when their father Abram passed away. Val hoped for the family’s sake that their father left everything in good working order because, though he loved his brother, Rowland was a bounder.
He spent much of his time in the different gambling halls in the city racking up debt, and spending time with their Uncle Edgar, their mother’s brother, who was a bad influence. Rowland vowed never to marry and it was a source of irritation between he and their father. He spent his time in the company of several other eldest sons who would inherit their own titles, and who were equally idle. The men seemed to favor actresses and dancing girls and women of questionable reputation, and Val wondered if Rowland led the life he did to annoy their father.
“I haven’t seen you in ages, old man. How are you?” Rowland said patting his knee.
“I’ve been working on a very difficult case and my room at the boardinghouse doesn’t encourage guests,” Val told his brother.
Rowland ordered a gin from a steward who walked by to take their orders and then settled in another red leather chair facing his brother.
“A boardinghouse? You don’t say! Is it complete with the old spinster woman running the establishment and her equally spinster daughter she’s trying to push you into marrying?” Rowland smiled.
Val smiled lightly at his brother’s jest. “The boardinghouse is perfectly respectable and the people that live there are equally so.”
“Indeed.” Rowland took a long swig of the gin he had been handed. “And what is respectable?”
Val thought for a moment and then replied, “Well there is a bank clerk, a factory worker, a milliner’s assistant and a governess.”
Rowland’s eyes lit up. “A milliner’s assistant and governess?”
Val nodded. “They all work in the city. Two of the boarders have families in the country, but for the most part I see very little of them unless I share a meal. Oftentimes I miss the meal times and must fend for myself.”
Rowland yawned indiscreetly and Val took the hint and stopped talking.
“And that job of yours. How goes it?” Rowland asked sipping his drink. “You are doing what exactly?”
Val swirled his scotch. “I work at the Metropolitan Police as a bobby,” he said giving his occupation as a common policeman when they both knew he was much more.
Rowland laughed. “A bobby? Do you direct traffic and help little old ladies across the street?”
“Of course. It’s an exciting occupation.”
Rowland finished his gin and ordered another one. “Come now. What are you working on Detective Chief Inspector Pierce?”
“Nothing that would interest you. It’s all interviews and paperwork,” Val said quietly, though he was certain his brother knew what his current case was about and how his name had even been mentioned several times in the newspapers.
“It sounds drab and boring.” Rowland said.
“Exactly so,” Val said, thinking of the three women whose lives had been cut short due to a violent killer who still roamed the streets.
“Have you seen Father lately?” Rowland asked.
“Last week. We had dinner here at the club actually.”
“Hmm.”
“Why?”
“No reason. He’s on me to marry.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone must settle down eventually Rowland. You know, raise a family once you’ve found the right girl.”
“But that’s my point, old man,” Rowland said, a twinkle in his eye. “Why settle down with the right girl when you can have all the girls you want. I don’t want a ball and chain keeping me home every night. The same woman, the same honey pot. No thanks,” he smiled and twirled his drink before drowning it all.
“I imagine chasing skirts will bore even you eventually,” Val commented.
“It hasn’t bored Uncle Edgar yet and he’s our father’s age.” Rowland returned.
Val made no comment to this. Edgar Reedley was their mother’s brother, and as their mother had been a Philadelphia socialite with money to burn, her brother was the same. He spent time in France and New York with no fixed home. In London, he often stayed at his club and gambled the nights away. It was well known that Uncle Edgar owed money to some shady people and would have to bail himself out of yet another scrape.
Val had never been close to his Uncle, but then they were very different men. As the second son of an Earl, Val had attended university set on going into law. Instead of practicing law, he had turned to the Metropolitan Police and worked his way into the Criminal Investigation Department, rising in rank from Detective Constable to Detective Chief Inspector. He fully intended to make his way to Superintendent and knew that a truly important case could make, or possibly break, his career.
His family didn’t take his career seriously and often made light of his work. He knew in his social circle men of his stature did not work, and those that did were looked down upon as inferior for having to make a living. He knew that as a younger son, he had to make his way in the world and it gave him a sense of accomplishment that he had done so. As a Detective Chief Inspector, he was respected and well regarded among his fellow police officers.
“I’m sure Father wants you to marry for a family and carry on the name,” Val pointed out. “That’s important and your duty to carry on the name, as you are the next Earl of Banham. You must understand that, Rowland.”
“I never cared for any of that,” Rowland scoffed. “And I certainly don’t see myself with a couple of hellions and a needling wife to come home to.”
Val dismissed his words. “It doesn’t matter what you care for or want. You know it’s the way things go. It’s your duty. God knows Father drilled that into us all our lives. Duty.”
“Do I ever. I went to the same university because Father did. I joined his club because Father wished it. Thankfully I have my own club now. You have no idea what it’s like to b
e in this gilded cage, Val. It’s a noose,” he said almost angrily.
“It’s your duty but it gives you the freedom to do as you please. Especially once you inherit,” Val pointed out.
“And marriage,” Rowland said shaking his head. “What kind of bride would she be? I’ll tell you,” he said leaning in close. “She’ll be the type of bride that will spread her legs eager enough in the beginning, and once an heir is birthed, she’ll never lay with me again. No thank you. No marriage for me.”
Val could smell the gin on his brother’s breath. “Don’t be so downtrodden. You could meet someone. A lovely girl. Someone to—“
“Someone to what? Share my life with? I like women, Val. I always have. I like variety and I like my freedom. I don’t give a damn what Father says. I don’t plan to marry anytime soon. So, to hell with duty and obligation. Those words stick in my throat.” Rowland said passionately.
“Far be it from me to come between you and Father. No doubt you’ll make your way and do as you please. You always do,” Val said.
Rowland smiled at this. “I damn well do, little brother.”
He gulped down the last of the gin and left Val exactly where he had found him; seated before the roaring fire engulfed in the warmth of the red leather chair.
✽✽✽
“You shouldn’t be here,” Annette shook her head at the woman in the dark blue hooded cloak. “It’s dangerous.”
“Is it really?” Caroline asked throwing the hood back to reveal her glistening golden wheat colored hair. “If I shouldn’t be here than you shouldn’t either.”
Annette looked away. “I live here.”
Caroline regretted the words. “Annette…“ she was about to apologize but stopped. She knew Annette would not appreciate it.
The women who worked the streets were tough and savvy, and empty words were just that, empty.
“Come,” Annette pulled her along the dark street and into a small public house. It was almost deserted as they took two chairs and a table in the back.
Caroline had never been inside a public house and she knew that only prostitutes and loose women entered such establishments. Respectable women did not enter such a place. She ducked her head down and looked up at Annette.
“I’ve brought you some money,” Caroline said softly. “It will keep you off the streets for at least a week.” She passed the small pouch to the woman and stared at her in the dim light.
Annette looked old and haggard. Her hair, once golden and vibrant, was now sweat stained and brittle. Her figure was scrawny and her bones jutted out. Her eyes were sunken in and listless, and her mouth turned downward in a perpetual scowl.
Caroline had begun visiting the darkest parts of the city, in part thanks to her sewing circle friend Stella, whose employment at the workhouse had enabled her to make friends with the people she helped. Stella often walked the streets giving out copies of the Bible and preaching the good word. She had a good heart, but failed to realize that people needed more than prayers to get them out of the East End of London.
Caroline had traveled with Stella several times, walking the dark streets at night and meeting the women affected the most by poverty. They sold their bodies out of necessity and Caroline was touched by them. Many had children and she wanted desperately to help them.
On one of her outings, she had met Annette Gardiner. Annette was very skeptical of Stella and called her a Bible pounder and avoided her. When Caroline had come out into the night on her own, Annette had approached her and talked to her sternly.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” she told her boldly. “Not the way you look anyway. Some man might come along and want you to perform for him.”
Caroline felt her cheeks warm even though she wasn’t entirely sure of what Annette meant. “I want to help,” she said instead.
“Hmph! We all know the help you provide. A Bible ain’t no good to help pay the room fees and it won’t get my boy his milk neither.” Annette folded her arms across her chest.
“Oh. You have a child?”
“A boy.”
“What’s his name?” Caroline asked.
“Richard. But everyone calls him Dickie.”
“That’s sweet.”
Annette nodded but her arms remained crossed over her slight bosom. “So. Where’s the Bible?”
“I’m sorry?” Caroline asked.
“The Bible. You haven’t brought it out yet. I must say you are pretty slow at it. Most come up to us holding it out like it’s a talisman to protect them from us.” Annette rolled her eyes.
Caroline smiled. “I don’t have a Bible.”
“No Bible?”
“I’m here to learn more about you, your life and what you need. I want to find practical ways to help you and others like you. I don’t think the Bible is the way.” Caroline shrugged.
“Hmph. You want to know about my life?”
“Yes.”
“It’s hell.”
Caroline blinked.
“I service as many men as I can and I get as little coin as they are willing to part with,” Annette told her graphically.
“I see.” Caroline swallowed.
“Do you?”
Caroline nodded. “Well—“ she began.
“Something tells me you’ve never been with a man. And what’s more, you’ve probably never known a hard day in your life.” Annette began to move away from her.
“Wait! What does it matter what my life is like? What does it matter if I’ve never known hardship? I want to help you.” Caroline said quickly.
Annette turned back to her. “What’s your name?”
“Caroline. Caroline Derry.”
“I’m Annette Gardiner.”
“Can I buy you dinner? For you and your boy?” Caroline offered quickly to keep the woman talking.
“I don’t want charity.”
“It’s not charity. Please. It’s just dinner,” Caroline reasoned.
Together, the ragged woman in a torn skirt and blouse, walked beside the woman in a trim tweed suit toward the food vendors along the road. Caroline bought a penny pie for both of them and turned away from Annette as she gulped the pie down as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Caroline realized with a shiver that she probably had not.
“Here. I’m not very hungry.” She said giving Annette her own pie.
Annette smiled and took the pie from her, gulping it down as well. They saw the food vendor selling eel jelly and walked to him. The eels were chopped and boiled in fish stock with various herbs and spices and Annette savored the jelly.
Caroline returned to the penny pie seller and asked that two be wrapped up. She handed it to Annette and said, “For Dickie.”
She then went to one vendor who was selling oranges and bought several returning to the woman. “I want you to give it some thought. When I return next time, I want you to tell me how we can work together to help you out of here. I have some ideas, but I want to hear from you.”
“You’re a strange one,” Annette said eyeing Caroline.
“I’m not that strange. I just want to help. I want to make a change. For people. Is that so wrong?” Caroline asked.
“When you want nothing in return, yeah. It is.” Annette said.
“Oh, but I do want something in return.” Caroline confirmed.
“Hmph!” Annette said triumphantly. “I knew it! Out with it.”
“I want to help change the slums. I want to better people’s lives. That’s what I’ll get,” Caroline smiled. “People’s lives will be bettered.”
Annette shook her head taking the wrapped pies and oranges in her hand. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Strange.”
Chapter 3
After their brief encounter, Caroline knew that things had gotten progressively worse for Annette. She had been sent to the workhouse after being sick for a prolonged period of time and unable to work. Caroline heard of Annette’s plight through her friend Stella and had worked hard to have her debts paid, and sh
e secured a room for her and Dickie.
Both Annette and Dickie were suffering from malnutrition and her father graciously offered to treat them, even though he was not entirely convinced that his daughter’s energies were focused in the right place. She was grateful to her father and hoped that in time Annette and her son would be the first to benefit from her project, whatever that would be.
After the time spent in the workhouse, Annette returned to the streets meaner and not desirous of helping Caroline in what she deemed “milady’s project.” She wasn’t grateful for Caroline’s financial help and scoffed at her plans to change the slums in some way.
Caroline arranged to meet Annette at the local pub near where she was staying and she could tell Annette was much changed. She was surly and didn’t say much at first. Annette took Caroline’s money but seemed angry at herself for taking it. When the barmaid came by, she ordered an ale with Caroline’s money while Caroline shook her head and didn’t order anything.
“Annette.” She said softly.
“I’m not some animal to be saved, my lady,” she had taken to calling Caroline that even though she was not titled. “I’m not some rabid dog or cat to be placed into a home, given a bath and put a collar around my neck. This is my lot. I’ve accepted it.”
“We’ve talked about what can be done. I promised you I would help. I have so many ideas,” Caroline said her eyes lighting up. “So many ideas. Please listen to me.”
Annette pulled the frothy foam to her lips and drank the ale. “Oh yes? And what’s this new idea of yours?”
“Housing. Everyone needs good, safe housing. Free of mold, rats. I plan to ask my father to help me purchase a building, renovate it and place people who need it into the rooms.”
“Purchase a building?” Annette asked sarcastically.
“Yes! It can be an older building that needs work. Maybe some of the women who will be tenants can help with the—“
“You have no idea, do you?” Annette said finishing the last of her ale. “Life is so grand for you, ain’t it? You snap your fingers and your daddy buys you a building. You push your little chess pieces across the board, place them into their little squares and look at that, you’re done. You feel better about yourself; everyone congratulates you. Then you can marry and settle in the country knowing you did a good thing once,” Annette spouted off.
Of Night and Dark Obscurity Page 3